Hellbound.
by Aphroditegoddess
Summary: A darker look at Alice's fall from grace and into the pits of hell. Madness, suicide, hate, abuse. Chapter 8 has been completed. Do I smell a lemon in the works? Read and tell me if I should. Oy ve. Definitely R & R...*pathetic begging
1. Prelude to a Nightmare

She looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are wide. Her arms are bruised by harsh fingers. She looks at the bruises for a long time, wondering at them. They are beautiful, in a way. They are a deep green, branching out around the circumference of her little arm. Some are in the small shapes of fingers, complete with little half-moon cuts. _Father should take care of his nails_, she thinks. Others are fist-sized slams, although, these ones are already yellowing, becoming pale and livid. Down her legs are beautifully mastered, deep slices, open and gaping wounds eating up the pain of her insides. Some days, all that she can feel is the maggots that her father has lain, eating away at her heart. They dig themselves deeper and deeper, wriggling into her very _soul, _undulating with fear and hatred. 

She walks slowly down the stairs, her legs a rubbery mess. She hears the heavy breathing of her father, a steamy breath soured by whatever alcohol he has been drinking. He lies like a dead man upon the sofa, a giant heap of stagnation. His face is swollen from the shoe she had thrown at him. She imagines he has a concussion. She hopes. 

When she gets to the bathroom, she closes the door behind her. The click of the lock seems definite and impending. She is beyond tears. She is beyond pain. Her whole body seems to have been turned into a cavernous and hollowed vessel, a thing not of her own. She takes off all of her clothes, hoping to feel somehow cleaner, less tainted. She looks at herself in the mirror again, trying not to be bashful of her own eyes. She is not homely; rather she is quite the opposite. She has soft features, a seemingly beautiful body. 

In her hands is a small paring knife, so gaudily sharp and precise. She holds it in her hands, and feeling an insatiable hunger to feel it's very sharpness, pricks her finger upon its tip. A drop of blood springs forth from her finger, growing pregnant before cascading from her finger in a voluptuous drop, poisoning the pure, white tiles with her pain. She knows the _knife_ itself has a meaty desire to dig itself deep into her wrists, to taste her blood. 

She begins to slice, and savors the pain that seers through her body, tearing apart her world with silent screams of crimson. Below the surface whirlwinds of pain, she knows that the effects of her abuse are festering and decaying. The cuts begin to open, releasing more shrapnel of wincing ache. She stifles a cry. A single bitter tear squeezes from two tightly shut eyes.

She remembers a mother she once had. She remembers the goodnight kisses and lullabies. She even remembers a father that didn't douse his fires with vodka or gin.

The world begins to move, and she lies down upon the floor. The cold prickles her skin, seeping to her very bones. Her eyes begin to see giant plumes of sunbursts, creating some sort of façade before her. She sees dust dancing and settling, going on about their little dust-lives. She knows that soon the dust will settle on her. Soon her body will crumble, and she will be no more than what she always felt inside of her: dust. _Everyone equals in the end,_ she thinks. 

As her blood begins to poison the room with its heartache, she feels the room begin to fade away. The world seems to be quietly withering, like a slowly waning moon that one doesn't know is disappearing until it's but a sliver in the sky. _Like a thinly pursed smile._ The strength of her limbs has dissipated to nothing now, and she suddenly feels a strange clarity. Her mind seems transfixed, in a cobra-trance. She doesn't feel bitter, or angry, or abandoned, or alone. She simply feels…alive. 

Like a sputtering candle, though, she loses her clarity. She lays back her head, her mahogany curls swimming in a lagoon of her own vital fluids. 

__

I'm going back to Wonderland, she thinks,_ and maybe this time for good. _

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Author's Note:I don't own Alice. Everything I write is my own little spin-off of whatever came from the book or the video game. This chapter was a little short, I know, but they'll get longer later on. I'm a little new at this whole fanfiction thing, so please leave some reviews. Just for some general info, I'm not some weirdo depressed teen, high off my own angst…just an average teen writing what she sees. Thanx~ Mel.


	2. The Cell

Diary Entry

Date: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Place: My Cell

My name is Alice. In the real world, outside of the asylum, I have a father. I have a mother too, but she's a rotting corpse. I don't really know where she is now. Father never told me where she was buried. 

I was put here because manic depression, mania, dementia…they say I'm fucking nuts. They say that when I'm better inside, I can leave this place. My insides were killed a long time a go, though, so I don't think I'll be leaving any time soon. Every day, I look outside of my barred windows at a slate gray sky. The clouds are the same every day. The grass is the same every day. Every day the view is bisected by obtrusive metal ribbons, ripping apart the one freedom I'm allowed: my eyes. So I sit on my bed, tailored especially for my derangement, complete with thick and ominous black, leather straps. In the ashen hues of the cell, I pass the time by looking at my new mutilations. I look at the veins, brutally collapsed by corrupt needles. I look at the bruises circumnavigating my wrists, the result of those intrusive straps.

I've been in this purgatory for what seems like eternity. Do you _know_ what eternity is? It is time, stretched out on end, expanding across a horizon that can never be touched. It is the universe put into a spiral and pushed into the soil of the earth until it reaches the very depths of hell. I don't know how long I've been here for sure. The days tend to compound together: the drugs, the syringes, the barred suns and moons. They're all the same to me. 

They tell me that when I was found in the bathroom, I was dead. My body was still warm. They deposited my carcass into an ambulance and frantically attempted to resuscitate me. Finally they shot colossal amounts of electricity through my body, driving the life force back into me. They gave me a blood transfusion. They sewed up my sliced wrists. The flesh is still puckered and raw, a jagged string navigating my arms. They say it was a miracle.

A miracle… 

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A man in a white orderly outfit walks into the room. His face is littered with stubble and beads of sweat. He has a syringe and a plate of gray food. 

"Time for your happy medicine, Alice," the man mumbles under his breath, as he sets the food near her bed. Alice sits, unresponsive. He takes Alice's left arm and rolls up the sleeve, exposing a milk-white arm and tapping gently on a vein that hasn't yet been destroyed. He is silent as he sticks the needle inside of her. 

His eyes look over her callously, flicking across her breasts and neck. He leans in to Alice's face, and she can smell his rancid breath. The clammy stink of him seems to saturate the entirety of the little room, infiltrating every crevice. Alice grimaces. 

"If you ever get lonely here at night with them crazies, doll, you know I'll be right outside yer door…" He chuckles to himself, his eyes gluttonous. The dirty man looks back toward the door before he begins to run his hand up her leg. He gets to her knee and lingers there, caressing it. Alice slams her legs together, crushing the disgusting man's fingers. The man stifles a howl and slaps Alice across the face. Already weak from the drugs pulsating through her bloodstream, she topples over across the bed. "Ya stupid bitch. I'll teach ya," he says in a throaty whisper, as he begins to hike up her shift, crushing Alice with his excess fat. He thinks better of it and instead slaps her once more. "Don' cross me, girlie," he says as he clamors off of her, "Remember I'm the one that's shootin' ya up. These drugs can git mixed up real easy, like."

_Would that be such a pity? _she thinks. Her face is already beginning to bulge and purple as the man saunters out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him. A headache begins to ebb in her temples, turning her mind into an orchestra of pain. Just as her mind is reaching its crescendo, the cell begins to darken and reality begins to fade to the black of her eyelids. 

//|^|\\

When Alice's eyes finally begin to flutter open, an undeterminable amount of time has been slain and buried, mourned over and forgotten. Darkness impedes over everything and blankets the world in a comforting ambiance. The only light is the dim glowing of a white, husky moon looking down on her cell with a careless reverie. If she gets very close to the barred windows, she could see the whole moon, with not a single stripe of containment destroying her view. She is too exhausted for that now, though. She simply lies on her iron bed, staring blankly at a mirror mounted on the ceiling. This was her reward for going two weeks without biting any orderlies. The mirror comforts her, reflecting back all the things in the world that are real, filtering out all deceptions that her mind tends to materialize. She sees herself in the mirror: a fragile and breakable little thing. 

The elder nurse, Elaina, is frightened of her; Alice sees this in the woman's eyes. Elaina is always apprehensive as she creeps into Alice's room, half expecting the small Alice to be stiff with Death's grip. The nurse gently shakes a sickly Alice whilst she sleeps to confirm her breathing when she's on duty. Regardless of her fear, Elaina still has a special fondness for Alice. She comes into Alice's cell after blood-curdling nightmare screams wake the whole asylum. She strokes Alice's hair and comforts her back into a sound sleep, refusing to use the drugs. 

As Alice stares at the mirror, she senses a glimmer about the cell for but a second. For only a fleeting instant, the world turns on its side, and she feels like she is drowning. She gasps for a breath, feeling her heart jump into the refuge of her throat. Her sanity seems to be sitting on the very eaves of reality. The mirror begins to glow in opalescent hues, and Alice suddenly knows exactly what is going on. 

In the mirror, an ivory smile unzips itself and she hears the chuckling in her mind, seemingly coming from every direction. It is a resonate sound, bouncing off the walls of her skull, filling her head with something deeper and richer than darkest chocolate. The smile dances around the glass mirror momentarily before materializing into her old pal…Cheshire Cat. 

Alice wants to close her eyes. She doesn't feel ready for Wonderland. She feels too preoccupied with trying to project herself as sane. But she can't close her eyes. She's transfixed.

"What the fuck do you want, Cheshire?" she asks, her voice is laced with suspicion and besmirched with bitterness.

"It's nice to see you too, my darling," the cat's words roll of his tongue like drops honey, tickling her earlobes. 

"Stop the shit, Cheshire. Just tell me what you want."

"We need you, my little tulip. Wonderland is perishing under the noon day sun."

Alice's face is a scowl. "It's nice that you show up to aid me now. I'm just glad to see you took your time. I wouldn't want you to put yourself out on account of little ole me…"

The Cheshire gives a little mewl of discontent, as though someone is pulling his tail. "Alice…You know I wouldn't abandon you for anything but a good reason…"

"Actually, Cat, you seem to abandon me every chance you get. Whenever I need you the most, you suddenly seem to be very far away." Alice is venomous now, her emerald eyes spitting a glare of licking flames at the ceiling. 

"Wonderland is a mere dandelion fluff away from collapsing. Things have gotten out of hand. The queen's gone mad, Alice."

"What the hell are you talking about? The queen was always nuts."

Cheshire seems to be getting agitated and exasperated. His body begins to fade, but Alice adds, "Cat, is it as bad as you make it sound?"

"Come, Alice. Come see."

Alice closes her eyes. Her headache seems to be returning. It is rhythmic, like the beating of a drum. It is a hastening beat. A beat. A beating. Beating her into submission. Beating her. Killing her. Raping her. Poisoning her. 

Alice can feel the world turning on its axes, hurling her into tomorrow. Time is scalped clean and its diseased cadaver is eaten over a tribal fire. Space is moved and changes, all the while being scarred by earthquakes, and floods, and murderers. She is dead, yet she lives.

"Fuck you, Cat. Let's go." 


	3. The Descent Into Hell

Alice opens her eyes. She knows that back home, her body is fast asleep, but her mind is far away from it, drifting here on the spires of Wonderland. She looks around her and gasps. The last time she was here, things were beginning to deteriorate, but now the land has been turned to a barren wasteland. The earth is slick with mud and puddles, which reflect a few barren trees scraping at a charcoal sky. The air is chilled, and a sudden gust of wind sputters a few crackling leaves across her feet. Cheshire Cat is at her side, looking past her. His feline face is contorted in solemnity, a rare occasion. There is a wooden stake before her, and mounted on its barbed tip is a white rabbit's head, soaked in blood. The blood drips methodically, pooling at the base of the stake in a thick, dark puddle. 

"Oh, rabbit. My beautiful little rabbit," she sighs. The verdant of her eyes flares in anger. Still stabbed in the rabbit's left eye is the knife that was used to butcher it. She pulls it out with a sickening yank, and it is coated in the rabbit's blood. She shrieks in anger, screaming wildly to the uncaring skies. Her screams seem to throttle all of Wonderland as small tremors ripple through the land. Without wiping away the Rabbit's blood, Alice takes the knife to her wrist. It is a pewter meat cleaver, the hilt ornately hewn with the Duchess's emblem: A heart being spliced by a dagger. She quickly cuts through the surface of her skin, watching a slender, red line unfurl. She is ritualistic in her movements, watching as the Rabbit's blood mixes with her very own. "This will not go unpunished," she whispers in a heady voice as she licks the blade. 

Cheshire sits nearby, unruffled by Alice's raging wails. "The crazy Queen of Hearts is dead, killed by the Duchess. _Duchess_ rules here now," Cheshire says. 

"Well, the fucking Duchess is going to feel The Wrath."

Cheshire's grin plays on his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It's good to have you back."

"The shit list has started, Cat, and Duchess is name number one. Wonderland isn't big enough for two crazy bitches, therefore one of us is going to find our carcasses flailing from the highest flagpole in Wonderland…I don't think it's going to be me."

Cheshire looks about nervously. "I don't think it's going to be you, either," he says, "but if we don't find cover soon, I don't think it's going to really matter what you think. Heads impaled on wooden posts don't really do much thinking…"

Alice takes one last enraged look at the Rabbit before finally conceding, "Ok, Cheshire. Let's go." She sees that Cheshire has already begun to amble into the forest, his tail twitching behind him purposefully. Alice wipes the dagger against her chest and notices that she's now wearing a short, gray dress complete with bloodied apron. She carefully ties the dagger to her thigh, using a black ribbon that had been holding back her impudent curls. Flies are beginning to hover over Rabbit's head, but she gives the decapitation a farewell kiss anyway. 

"Goodbye, Rabbit," she says with a tear, before running to catch up with Cheshire.

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The orange orb in the sky, halloed by ominous clouds, is quickly being eaten up by the horizon as the duo begins to tramp through the forests. Words are scarce as they trudge, as they are more concerned with getting out of the woods and avoiding the Duchess's minions. Suddenly, some shuffling is heard from behind some dry brambles. Cheshire halts, his tail stationary in the air as his ears prick in consternation. Alice quickly whips her dagger from her thigh and cocks it in her hand in a ready stance.

Two rather obese men dressed in a red checked shirt and overalls, blunder out from behind the bushes: Tweedledee and Tweedledum…thoroughly flushed. "Oh! Excuse us!" says Tweedledee. "We didn't know we had a captive audience…" Tweedledee looks lovingly over to Tweedledum, and Tweedledum blushes. Tweedledum looks at Alice for a moment before recognition washes over his face. 

"Oh, Alice!" Tweedledum says. "I can't believe it's you! I didn't know you were back in Wonderland. How long have you been back?"

"Well--" Alice begins.

"Alice, you've grown into such a little lady," Tweedledee croons over her, toying with her hair. "You're absolutely beautiful."

"Why, thank you, but--"

"Alice, my dear, do you have a little time for pleasantries?" Tweedledum asks.

"Well, actually we really must--"

"MARVELOUS!" shrieks Tweedledee in delight, as he begins to unzip his pants. "After all," Tweedledee continues to banter, "there's always time for a rousing round of pleasantries…and sometimes there's even time for two!" 

Tweedledum giggles in delight. "I can't imagine how you can have enough energy after that performance back there," he says to Tweedledee with a smirk and a wink.

"SHUT! UP!" Alice finally screams in exasperation. The men immediately fall silent, their feelings obviously hurt. "It's just that…It's just that…I don't think I could bear both of you_ darlings_ at once. It would just be too much for me." Tweedledum blushes as Tweedledee nods his head with conceit. "So, can you boys just let us through and give us a little direction to the Duchess?"

Tweedledee sighs. "All right. If you keep going north, you should arrive at the Mad Hatter's place. After that it's just a little farther to the Duchess, but you might want to stop at the Caterpillar's on the way."

"Thank you," says Alice, relief flooding through her voice. "Goodbye, boys."

As Alice begins walking in the given direction with Cheshire by her side, she hears a voice behind her, "Humph. She's not nearly as much fun as her mother…" 

Alice quickly turns around, her face drained of all blood: "Now what the hell is that supposed--"

But they are already gone; All evidence of them is departed except for a used condom and a lingering chuckle from deep in the darkness of the woods. "Now what do you think he means by that, Cat?" she asks quietly. 

"I don't know, my darling, but I have a feeling that perhaps the Caterpillar will know…Come, let us away to the Mad Hatter's." 

"What would I do without you, Cheshire?" Alice asks. 

"Most likely live a longer, happier life, my darling."

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The Duchess sits upon on her bejeweled, crimson thrown, a scowl waltzing across her face. Her fat seems to have almost expanded the limits of her doughy flesh, her whole body seemingly imploded on itself. She has beady, black eyes, taking in her surroundings with a malicious air. Her palace is made of ebony alabaster and blood red marble. It is a black structure, tiered and covered in inky gingerbread. It is a colossal tower of Victorian details and metal palisades, seeming to swallow and gulp at the vaults of heaven. 

"That little **Bitch**!" the Duchess screams across the grand hall. "How dare she have the temerity to come back to **my** land!" She gives another ear splitting screech. The looking glass resting upon her enormous lap begins to haze with mists. In a rage she throws the glass toward a servant cowering in a corner, and it ruptures into infinitum. "KNAVE! KNAVE!"

In from a pair of gilt double doors in the back of the hall bustles the Knave Soldier. He drops before the Duchess on his stomach. "Please, my precious, most exulted Duchess, how may I possibly service your needs?"

"Get Alice," the Duchess rasps. "Get her. Bring her to me. Then gut her in front of my eyes. Then hang upside down from the ceilings, and let me be showered in her blood. Get her, **now**."


	4. Eat Me

When Alice and Cheshire finally arrive at the clearing in the woods, a moonless night has already descended upon all the land. Seemingly floating on the low-lying mists roiling in with the night air, is a dilapidated cottage. Its thatched roof is collapsing in upon itself, sagging and gaping to the open skies with prominent fissures. A solitaire dim, red lantern is swaying from a shattered window, illuminating the path to the cottage with a gentle glow. The door is a resonate shade of green, and splattered before it on the stoop is the dismembered corpse of some unidentifiable, small creature. 

Traversing the door, nearly illegible is scrawled: The Mad Hatter.

Alice's brow furrows. "Cheshire…What's wrong with the Hatter?"

Cheshire's smile dulls for but an instant, his face turning into a glower, "The Hatter is mad, Alice. Dangerously mad."

"Then why the hell are we here?" Alice asks with animosity.

"Because, my little pudding pop, The Hatter has something that we need."

"And what would that be, Cat?"

"Eat me," Cat says simply whilst tapping on the door gently with his tail.

"You listen to me, Cat--" Alice begins, but she is broken off as the door swings wide with a creak. The inside of the cottage is completely dark, save for two candelabras poised with dignity upon a long, chestnut dining table. The table seems to reach across the entirety of the house, extending past Alice's peripheral vision. An insane giggling is heard from the recesses of the house. 

The two enter.

"They said I could keep the corpses. They said I could eat the corpses. They said I could keep the corpses. They said I could eat the corpses…" The Hatter chants under his breath. He is sitting at the head of the table; a plate of cookies is sitting in front of him, each cookie labeled Eat Me.

"It's good to see you again, Hatter," Alice says. She talks slowly and calmly, as though talking to a Doberman. Her voice never wavers, though, as she looks The Mad Hatter directly into his vacant eyes, searching for some indication of sanity. She finds none.

"Did you say hello to my friend?" asks Hatter. He laughs again, and his mouth opens into a chasm, revealing two rows of needle pointed teeth. His face brandishes a scar that runs from his left nostril to his ear. It is a deep scar that gathers up his face into a perpetual grimacing smirk. "Dormousedormousedormousedormouse…" he rants with glee. 

Alice's face contorts in disgust as she realizes that Dormouse was the creature on the stoop. Before she can even think any more, Hatter sprints out of his chair and wraps his cold hands around her neck. His long fingernails dig into the tender flesh at the nape of her neck. She flinches with the pain, her mind blank at the shock. Cheshire, not missing a beat, jumps on Hatter's head and scratches wildly at his eyes. Hatter lets out a howl as a clawed paw swipes Hatter's eye, rupturing the iris and sending fluids dripping down his mutilated face. Hatter thrashes riotously and Cheshire is pitched to the side. Things are beginning to blur, and Alice can feel the blood pumping through her purple face. On reflex, Alice's hand jumps to her thigh. She wrenches out her meat cleaver and thrusts it into The Hatter's neck. She feels her anger exploding and flashing before her eyes; it is sheer, unadulterated rage crashing on her mind, straining on her temples with urgency. A cascade of spurting blood bathes her in warmth and stickiness. The Hatter fumbles backward, wrenches the knife from his neck, and watches in bewilderment as more fluids begin to pour forth from the wound that is yawning open. The Hatter collapses in a heap, landing with a sickening thud. 

Alice gasps ravenously for breath, never once taking her eyes off the lifeless body of Hatter. As Cheshire composes himself after his rather violent tumble, Alice turns away to vomit. She holds the wall for support, but finally gives up on her frail legs and slides down the wall. Cheshire limps over to her and begins to lick the speckles of blood off her face. His tongue is strangely textured and licks over her eyes and cheeks. He purrs as his pink tongue wanders over her lips. He nuzzles her neck with his black nose.

"Oh, Cat," she moans, "how I wish you were not a cat…"

Alice gets up. She spies a black velvet bag and puts the cookies into it. She ties it around Cheshire's neck securely. Her movements are very deliberate, as though it pains her to move. 

"I guess we should go now," Cheshire says. "We've still got a lot of ground to cover and--Alice, are you alright?"

Alice's face is chalky. She feels her stomach drop to her toes. Her surroundings begin to deplete into tunnel vision. "Someone's waking me up," she says weakly. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels her body being torn in two. "I'll be back soon, Cat. Soon…" Her voice begins to dissipate as her body seems to be eaten up by the shadows around her. Cheshire feels helpless as she is ripped away from Wonderland.

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"Dear, illustrious Duchess," Knave begins, "The Mad Hatter is dead." His voice is laced with terror, pitched so high he fears it will shatter.

"I don't really care about the Mad Hatter, do I? You filthy, little fuck!" Her words are like daggers, stabbing the air with deadly accuracy. "What of the girl? Does she live or not?"

The Knave is silent. Dread gyrates through his body, wracking the deep bowers of his soul. "No, my most--"

"SILENT! You impudent fool! You listen to me, you little piece of shit, she's gone now, but she's coming back. When she does, if that little bitch is not killed, I will make you eat your testicles and torture you from morning 'til night from now until eternity. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, honorable, marvelous, grand--"

"Get the fuck out of my sight."

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The light is blinding to Alice's hollowed eyes. She feels the restraint of the straps of the bed regulating her arms and legs. Sitting beside her bed is Nurse Elaina, with a bowl of hot soup in her lap. It smells unusually appealing to Alice, and she realizes that she is starving. Elaina smiles warmly and begins to spoon the warm soup into Alice's mouth. 

"You've been out for a quite some time, deary," the woman says. "We were getting a little worried. You started thrashing in your sleep and screaming about hats and cats and queens. Well, no one knew what to think."

"Screaming?" Alice's voice is cracked and parched. 

"That mean man is never going to bother you again, deary," Elaina says with a quavering voice. 

"Man?"

Elaina touches Alice's bruised face. Dull pain reverberates through her cheeks. _The orderly,_ she remembers. "That bastard will never bother anyone again," she says. Tears begin to pervade her blue eyes. "To think…you such a helpless little thing, and him…him. Oh, I don't like to think about it. You get some sleep, deary, and don't worry yourself with anything. You need your rest."

Alice realizes that she does feel exhausted. Her mind and body has been overworked. Elaina silently unties her little patient and sings her to sleep, not leaving the room until the girl's eyes are fluttering with slumber.

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	5. 'Pillars and Bongs

Alice awakes from her rest feeling refreshed. She has slept through the day, and it is dark. She begins to miss the light of day from her little cell, even if it casts long, barred shadows over the cement floor. She looks above her and sees the mirror, leering at her with her own scornful face. She looks like hell. Her curly hair is flying around her face in some sort of derangement. Over the past few days, she has become even more spare and insubstantial. Her eyes have sunken into dark little hollows, and her complexion is nearly transparent. 

Embellishing the gray reflections of the mirror, appears the extravagant smirk of Cheshire. Alice doesn't want to return. She feels as though if she does, she will be forced to cling to the insanity that resides there. 

"Are you ready, Alice?" His voice is tumultuous and resounding.

"Have I ever been fucking ready for this shit?" she retorts. She blinks, and already she feels the wind whipping her face, the darkness enveloping her, and the clammy fingers of the frigid air grappling at her flesh.

When Alice's eyes quiver open again, she finds herself standing before two great, white pillars. The pillars seem to shoot up to the sky in perpetuity. They are massive columns, and centered between them both, is a giant caterpillar, reclining on a lavish, purple pillow. Rising behind him is an immense, gypsy-style tent. His corpulent body expounds, in her mind, past its natural boundaries. He looks less like a caterpillar and more like a plump grub. His eyes are yellow and ringed in red. An oversized bong sits before him, and smoke floods out of his nostrils, drifting up and spiraling around the pillars. The smoke of the enormous bong seems to pervade the entire area, suffusing the entirety of the outside arena with its aroma. On one side of the caterpillar is a topless butterfly, fanning the rotund and grubby creature with a palm leaf. She giggles intermittently, every once again taking a hit from the joint in her unoccupied hand. 

"Caterpillar," Alice says with authority, "I need to talk to you."

Caterpillar seems to awaken from his haze, finally noticing her presence. "_You_ want to talk to _me_?"

"Caterpillar," Alice begins, "I was told you could help me."

"Well, I got lots of _help_ I can give you," Caterpillar winks and sways, obviously off-balance. "I got everything from spittin' tobacco to heroin. As some famer, I mean, _famous_, dude once said, 'anything you want, baby, you got it'…" At this, three topless butterflies, wearing some garb similar to that of Vegas showgirls, file out of the purple tent behind Caterpillar, singing in tune. Caterpillar smiles with approval as he pinches the butt of one of the butterflies. "It's my new advertising campaign. You like?" He begins to laugh uncontrollably. "I don't even have to pay these lovely ladies," he says, his eyes struggling to stay open and focus, "they work for me, I mean _my_, prostitution ring…"

"Listen, Caterpillar, I don't want any of your drugs. I don't want any of your whores. I just want information--"

"Whoa! You listen here, my friend, my establishment is perfectly legal, and if you have any problems whatsoever I say you either take it up with management or call the Better Business Bureau."

"Caterpillar," Alice pleas desperately, "I just want to know what you know about Wonderland. **WONDERLAND**. I was told that if there's anything that I need to know about Wonderland, you would tell me."

Caterpillar peals into laughter, tears beginning to sprout at the cornices of his squinted eyes. "Oh, you had me scared, ya little cheeky monkey! You don't want me, kiddo; you want my mother. She's in there." Caterpillar points to the tent behind him. Strings of beads cover the door, and Alice is almost afraid to see what is inside. 

"You stay out here," she tells Cheshire, as she pushes past the Vegas butterflies and into the tent. 

The inside is plush and furnished in downy pillows and indigo blankets. In the corner, a ladybug is playing on some sort of Hindi instrument, tapping the strings with quick plucks. The ladybug's face is wrapped in shrouds, and the music she is producing is almost hypnotic. Sitting on a red cushion in the center of the room, is a seemingly youthful moth. Candles surround her, the wax melting in rings around their bases. A small jewel is embedded in the moth's forehead, glittering with the fluctuating light of the tent. She is dainty and delicately boned, with long, feathery antennas erupting from her head in two luxurious plumes. With her eyes still closed, the moth asks, "you seek my wisdom?"

Alice, quite mystified by all that is around her, says, "yes. I was sent here by Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They told me I should talk to Caterpillar, but he seems a little…preoccupied at the moment."

"My son," she says with dismay, "is a stoner."

"Ms…?"

"Mathilde. My name is Mathilde," the moth says.

"Mathilde, what is going on here?" Alice asks, her force of will diminishing with every passing moment.

"Why, my child, you should already know exactly what is wrong with Wonderland. You've always known." Alice gives Mathilde a quizzical look. "Girl," Mathilde continues, "you and Wonderland have been affecting each other for years…ever since you were a girl. The question is not what's been bothering Wonderland…the question is: What has been bothering you?" 

"I don't understand," Alice says desperately.

"Alice…Where is your mother?"

Alice's face goes starkly pale. "What does my mother have to do with this? She's dead."

"I didn't ask whether she was living or not, girl. I asked where she was." Alice says nothing. "Oh, your father never told you then?" Alice searches for words but can find none. From her robes, Mathilde pulls a looking glass. "Look in the glass, Alice. Ask it where your mother is."

Alice's mind reels. "Where is my mother, mirror?" Sworls of fog precipitate across the mirror's face. Alice's eyes never leave the mirror; she doesn't even blink. Suddenly, shapes begin to form. A palace, chiseled out of ebony and towering to the heavens, is visible. The images swoop through an open tower of a top window. It is a dungeon, and lying upon a mound of stale hay, is a corpse. The corpse seems to have been dead for some time, but its garb is still intact: A flowing, red gown, ornately embellished with jewels…and hearts.

"But _Why?_" she asks. "The Queen of Hearts? _Why? How?!"_ Alice's questions turn to shrieks and tears that flow profusely down her pale face. 

Mathilde pauses to let Alice compose herself. "Alice, this world is a real world. It's not some illusion you create in your mind. But, to keep it alive, it must have contact with the outside world. That contact is you. Just by having you know about this land, Alice, keeps us alive. The downfall is that you are directly affected with the mood of the land, and the mood of the land is directly affected by its ruler. Do you follow?"

Alice nods. "So, the Queen of Hearts…my mother…became ruler, and created a world of madness. And when the Duchess came to rule, after killing the Queen, she created a world of darkness?"

"Yes. Before your mother went mad, she entrusted this land to you. She wanted you to be the link, and she gave you the greatest inheritance a mother could ever give: Wonderland. Your mother never died in the real world, she simply slipped into the abyss of Wonderland physically, which she was allowed to do when she became queen. That is why your father could never show you a grave…because there never was one."

Alice attempts to take it all in. "But I don't understand, Mathilde. For someone to kill my mother and take her place, that person must have come from the real world, correct?"

Mathilde nods.

"Then who else would have known about Wonderland? Who is the Duchess, _really_?"

The corner of Mathilde's lips upturn in a twisted smile. "It's time for you to go, child. I have meditating to do, and you have some asses to kick." Mathilde pulls from her robes a small bong, and the ladybug from the corner begins to usher Alice out. At the doorway is Cheshire.

"I assume you were listening the entire time?"

"Of course, darling. I wouldn't leave you alone in this hole…" Cheshire answers, with his characteristic grin. "And, I wouldn't leave myself with that shitfaced Caterpillar…"

The two wander onto the beaten trail to continue on their journey.

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***Author's Note~ I do realize that this chapter was a little out of the ordinary. I just hope that everyone understood everything that I tried to explain. If not, please leave some questions, comments, and suggestions. I know there are still a few holes, yet, but those are to be filled in later. But if there is anything that you're not completely clear on, just ask. I'm always looking for improvements. (P.S.~ Mathilde, pronounced Matilda, but not spelled so for personal reasons). Thanx~ Management. 


	6. Band of Gold

The Knave perks at the crackling noises. He hears two creatures, walking in a rather perfunctory manner, slovenly crushing every bit of forest debris that has the great misfortune of being even remotely in their trajectory. He lifts his sword from its resting-place near a moss-covered tree, and securely fastens it to his waist. He hears the blundering impending on his position, and bounds for cover behind some ferns. He hears the voices begin to crescendo, and he can tell that both parties are deep in conversation. It seems to be some nonsense about the legalization of drugs. 

When the two come but a breath away from the concealed Knave, he leaps from the bushes. Before she can even think about what she is doing, Alice rips the cleaver from her thigh and brings it to the Knave's windpipe in one swooping motion. 

"You move, fucker, and I'll kill you," she says with a hoarse whisper in his ear. Cheshire stalks around the restrained soldier, measuring him with conviction.

"I'm not here to hurt you," the Knave says through clenched teeth. "I was sent by the queen to kill you, but I'm not going to do it."

"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure, my little morsel," mocks Cheshire, as he claws the man's face with rabidity. "The queen, as we all know, can see everything in this land. Your pitiful appeals will do no good. She is expecting you to pull some such stunt, and so are we."

"No, you don't understand," pleads the Knave. "She can't see anything. Her looking glass has been destroyed, at her own hands, no less."

"And how do we know you're telling the truth?" asks Alice, her eyes narrowing to slits, her lip curling with disgust. 

"I know I can't kill you, Alice. I'm not so talented to attempt suicide for a bitch that I hate with everything inside of me. I want you to kill her. I want to help you."

Alice chuckles, her tone dense with skepticism. "Prove it."

"Ok," the Knave says simply. Alice looks questioningly at Cheshire, and Cheshire simply shrugs his shoulders in bewilderment. "Look in the inside pocket of my jacket. There should be a small leather purse. I stole it from the palace. If the Duchess ever found out I have it, she would have my head for it…or more," the Knave added, remembering the Duchesses brutal promises of mutilation.

Alice fumbles inside of the Knave's vest; the cleaver still cocked to the man's jugular. When her hand clenches said purse, she tosses the Knave to the earth with a firm shove. His fall is hearty, and he looks up at Alice, as if expecting something more. 

Alice is in her own world now. Everyone and everything around her has smudged into some blurry pastel, with nothing relevant except her and the contents of the purse. The purse is nearly unsubstantial in weight. She overturns the purse, shaking its contents into her open palm. 

A ring tumbles out. Her heart beats faster as she brings the thick band of gold up to the light. She doesn't want to look inside, fearing what she may find. To her horror, though, she finds herself turning the ring upside down. Against her own will, she finds her eyes scanning the inside of the band. Her heart skips a few beats.

The initials: A.L. 

The world seems to whisper, and she feels like she's sinking in the dead air. The universe still seems frozen, and its silence is deafening. She doesn't even hear her own labored breathing. She feels as though she will faint, but refuses to allow it to happen. She plants her feet firmly on the ground, attempting to anchor herself and whisk away any thoughts of swooning.

"Where did you get this?" Alice asks, her treacherous voice betraying her with intermittent cracks. 

"It…it means a lot to the Duchess. I've often caught her leering over it, her face contorted in fascination. I just…I just thought that, maybe it would mean something to you, of all people. So I stole it…"

What does it mean, my darling," Cheshire asks. He sits beside her, rubbing an arched back along her hand. 

"…It means Satan. It means everything that has ever wronged me in my life. All things that have maimed me, hurt me, touched me, hated me is here in this little hoop of gold…It means Alan Liddle, Cat…Alan Liddle. My father." 

"I don't understand, my sweet," Cheshire says slowly.

"Neither do I, Cat," she responds, preoccupied with thought. Thoughts trounce through her head in jumbles and spurts. 

__

Nothing fits, she thinks. _Nothing makes any sense. Did the Duchess kill my father, too?_

The Knave soldier insists on leading Cheshire and Alice to the palace, and the trio begins to head out. As they near the palace the skies blacken and the surroundings morph into a bleak and desolate swamp of mud. Even though Alice should be thinking of her oncoming battle with the Duchess, all she can think about is her father.

//|\\

__

She remembers him clearly now. She remembers his belching and his never-ending stink. The way he used to beat her mother with a belt when things weren't done to his satisfaction. Her face, swollen and livid with bruises would hover over her cradle, looking at Alice lovingly. She would sing her songs and stroke her face with a shaky hand. And her father would be there behind her mother, standing in the doorway with loathing on his face. 

"You're all that has ever mattered to me, my sweet, precious, little angel," she would whisper to her baby's ear. Tears would roll down her bulging face, as she wished so badly that she could give her child everything she never had.

Soon the bruises turned to cuts; the cuts turned to gashes; the gashes to huge, sweeping slices. Her father used a kitchen knife on his wife, deciding after ample time that the belt didn't do enough damage. Her mother was scared for her life and the life of her child, often locking her daughter in her nursery so her husband wouldn't be able to hurt the delicate and breakable little baby.

Her mind began to give out before her body, though. She sat in corner, filling whole notebooks with little drawings of hearts. She cut hearts out of construction paper. She carved hearts in the walls and furniture. She carved hearts in her flesh. She was leaving love for her child for the day her husband killed her, she would say.

And then one day, she disappeared. 

Dead, her father said. No, her father said, there would be no funeral. The bitch doesn't deserve it. 

And that was the end of it. 

//|\\

"There it is…" Alice hears a voice, very far away. "The palace of the Duchess," says the Knave. 

"So it is," mumbles Alice, her breath catching in her throat as she catches her first glimpse of the palace. It looms above everything, sitting atop the world in its huge, inky splendor. Its towers are forked and pronged, everything decorated ornately in smooth, cold marble and alabaster. Alice sees the tower she saw in the looking glass, the one with her mother's dead body: The Queen of Hearts. 

__

I'll give her a proper funeral, she thinks. _She deserves as much for all the things that she did for me. She walked the brink of madness to save me from some of the worst horrors imaginable. And when she realized she failed to save me from anything, she fell deeper into her madness and left me alone with that man. That man that was my father._

"The Duchess awaits us," Alice says with a look of abomination on her face. Her emerald eyes flicker with the seething heat that hides behind them. Her hand twitches to her thigh. She feels the hilt of her cleaver, her fingers briefly caressing the blade, judging its sharpness and accuracy. "Come on, Cat. I think there's a reckoning to be dealt," she says. She feels the derangement, the lunacy, the absolute madness flowing through her veins. She tastes the blood of the rabbit on her tongue. The blood of her mother. The blood of her own. 

__

It will all be avenged, she thinks. _Now._


	7. Dukeout with Duchess

"She's here," the Duchess croons, her voice licking the room like a burning flame. It drenches the chamber, dripping thick from the vaulted ceiling in a heavy and armored tone. She looks over to a young servant boy quaking with fear, attempting to be invisible. "Boy, go unlock the door. Open it. Welcome our guests." The boy gives a quizzical look toward the Duchess, but follows her orders anyway. Fear for his scalp has made him a very obedient servant. He fumbles at the heavy block of wood that barricades the cumbrous, gilt doors. Nervously he swings open the doors and looks to the Duchess for further orders. When none come, he scampers away, mouthing one of the few prayers he knows of.

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There is a sinking in Alice's heart. She sees the doors to the palace have been opened, blithely welcoming her through the gateway to hell. The trio, (Alice, Cheshire, and the Knave) walk slowly into the hall. Alice leads her troupe like a balanced formation of birds, infecting the group with her anger via her strong and deliberate gait.

When they arrive at the center of the colossal vestibule, they stop. Behind them, the doors suddenly slam, deafening the room for but an instant with their solidity. A few overhanging chandeliers light the room, and it takes some time for their eyes to get used to the dusky light. As Alice's eyes begin to focus, a thrown of immense proportions seems to take shape. It is red velvet and gold, ornately decorated with the Duchess's emblem (a sword piercing a heart). Sitting on the thrown is the enveloping shadow of the Duchess. 

"You killed the Rabbit," Alice says with an incising anger.

"Yes," the Duchess says simply, a hint of malignant humor itching in her voice and lingering there. 

"You tried to kill me," Alice says.

"Yes."

"And you killed the Queen. You killed my mother."

The Duchess laughs at this. Her abysmal cackling seers at Alice's eardrums, rising and falling at pinpoints. "Dead," she chortles. "There won't be a funeral, though. The bitch doesn't deserve it."

Alice's eyes don't change. There is an emptiness there. It is a cold and resolute gaze that meticulously studies the Duchess. "Hello, father." 

A sneer crosses the Duchess's face callously. Time suddenly slows for Alice. The world grows dim and blurry. Images seem to flounder and flail, and time begins to move frame by frame, inching so that Alice can see every second with the studious care of an accomplished artist. The Duchess raises her hands until they are covering her face. She digs her fingernails deep into her scalp with an insane rabidity, and blood immediately courses from the scalp wounds, plunging down her face in tepid rivulets. She begins to slowly pull on the fistfuls of flesh that she has uprooted. The skin peels down her face with a sickening sound of tearing flesh. Veins and blood and muscle is torn away with a careless abandon that is almost gleeful. And under it all, under the gore and carnage, Alice sees a face she thought vanquished from her life for eternity. 

How could she ever forget that fleshy face, so doughy and pallid? The sallow, beady eyes, staring at her from behind a veil of true insanity. How many times had she wished her father dead? How many times, after the countless batterings, had she wished him maimed and tortured and so far from her small and defenseless self? 

"Hello, my daughter." It is no longer the Duchess's voice that was speaking, but her father's. 

"You son of a bitch," Alice says. Her breath catches in her throat for a flash. She screams a war cry, a cry of pain and rage, and hurtles at the man before her. Her cleaver glints subtly with the shifting candlelight. Already prepared, the man pummels her with a flying fist, but not before catching the edge of the violently slashing blade with a grunt. Alice is thrashed to the floor, and slowly begins to pick herself up. The man rushes at her, giving a swift kick into her abdomen. Alice chokes and sputters but quickly regains her composure. She flicks the cleaver in her wrist and stabs it into the man's shin, which is already coming in for another hit. The man bellows again, and instead clobbers her head with an ironclad fist. The world echoes upon itself and turns into a dimension of confusion. She hears the cry of Cheshire in her head, but somehow peripherally knows that he can't come to her aid, at the restraint of the Knave. 

_All a dirty trick,_ she thinks. _All a dirty trick. **He**_ _wanted me here. He's going to kill me…_

"He won't kill you, my darling," a sepulchral voice says, reverberating through her mind and soul. "You are strong. This is your land, my sweet. This is _your_ destiny…" 

Her senses begin to clear, and she shakes her head to induce full consciousness. The wrath and fury has returned to her now. How _dare_ this stupid fucker assume her to be the weak one! In one quick movement, she flies to her feet, securing the cleaver in her hands once again. The man snakes back his arm for another blow. Before he can, Alice stabs him in his gut, watching the blood spurt out of him like a punctured barrel. The man doesn't stop his maniacal quest, though. He sees the blood and is thrown into another frenzy and claws blindly at Alice. Alice is unperturbed. The man lays a long, angled claw mark that draws a thin line of scarlet spanning her cheek. With her cleaver, she thrusts up and grounds the cleaver into his armpit. She feels the delicate pop, as the tip punctures an organ, most likely a lung. She doesn't hesitate now; She tears the cleaver from his armpit and plants it deep into the man's chest. She wriggles it around, feeling the man's innards, not even hearing his roars of desperation. She feels the head of the blade pierce her father's heart, and finally releases her deathgrip. 

She steps back from the butchery with a muffled outcry. Alice watches as her father falls to his knees and then makes his final bow to the earth, as his body crumples under the weight of death and sin. She turns around to see Cheshire, watching open-mouthed over the dead body of the Knave. Alice bursts into tears as a cornucopia of various pains tears at her insides. Cheshire's open mouth turns to a comforting grin. 

"What did I do, Cat? What did I do?" Alice asks the Cat. "I killed my own father. I was his flesh and blood…"

"Oh, my precious. He tortured you. He tormented you. What little you had, he pillaged from you with greed and wrath. He was not your father, my Alice, He was your demons."

"But…I loved him. Even though he killed me inside, I loved him. It made me hate myself and want to die. How could I love a man who afflicted me so much? I wanted him dead…but he was my father." Alice looks at the dead man with a pity she doesn't understand. She hovers there for a minute, feeling her temples throbbing. "Goodbye, father," she breaths. "Goodbye…"

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Alice stands over her mother's dead body. The Queen of Hearts. Alice kneels down to the woman, looking at her, running her hand over the woman's stiff and decomposing hand. 

"I absolve you of your sins, mother," Alice says as she brushes her lips across the forehead of the rotting corpse. "This is your funeral, my mother. You _do_ deserve it." A single tear beads at her eye before she sets the torch to the dead woman's body. Alice and Cheshire watch the woman burn until there is nothing left but a mass of ashes.

"They're all gone, Cat," Alice says to Cheshire. "I'm all alone."

"No, you're not, my sweet," Cheshire admonishes with a grin. "You have me…"

"Oh, Cat," Alice says with a sigh. "How much I wish you were not a cat…"

"Nothing's over 'til the Fat Cat sings, my darling," chuckles the cat with a mischievous and toothy smile. 


	8. An End and a Beginning

"Alice," Cheshire continues, "you are now queen of Wonderland. It is possible for you to slip into this dimension physically, now." Cheshire pulls off the velvet pouch that has been around his neck and opens it up. Inside is the cookies, labeled: Eat Me. 

Alice's eyes fill with tears. "You mean, I wouldn't ever have to return to that stinking hole? That cesspool? Rutledge would be behind me forever?"

Cheshire nods. "These cookies. The ones that the Mad Hatter was hiding, can bring you here."

Alice shakes her head. "But I don't understand…How???"

"My sweet, I don't expect you to understand right now. Sometimes I don't really understand it myself." Cheshire ponders for a moment, thinking on how to explain it. "It's not that the cookies are really magical, per say…It's just that…." Cheshire takes a deep breath and begins again, "In Greek mythology, the goddess Persephone was kidnapped into the Underworld by Hades. She wanted to return to her mother, but was not allowed to do so because, whilst in the Underworld, she ate Pomegranate seeds, or food of the Dead. In a way, those cookies are Wonderland's food of the dead. But you must eat them willingly and knowingly as a Queen."

"There's nothing left for me back home, Cat. There's no one left for me here…except you." Alice looks at the mirror in Cheshire's hand and the cookie is his other, mulling over each. "I want to stay here, Cat."

"Then you need a link, Alice. You were your mother's link; she was her mother's link; she was her mother's link before that…Who do you know that can take your place?" 

"Elaina," Alice says with tenderness. "I could pay her back for all the kindness that she has showed me during my years of hell." She falls silent, feeling a little pained at the idea of saying yet one more departure. "Why must I always say goodbye to the people I love, Cheshire?"

"Come on, dear. Let us away to Rutledge…for the last time."

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Alice hovers over the sleeping woman. The woman is napping humbly on a chair near her bed. Her head rests on her bosom and moves slowly as she breathes deeply. Her peppery hair is trundled on top of her head in a droopy bun. Alice studies the woman's face. Elaina's face is strewn with mild wrinkles, the telltale scars of overabundant smiles. 

Alice touches her face and is sent a flash of the things that she is dreaming of: her son, Dominic, her job, her endless surplus of love and devotion to her patients. Alice's lips brush the woman's soft cheek. Alice takes the cleaver that killed her father and cuts a sluice across her wrist. She daubs a bit of her blood on the woman's lips, and gives Elaina one more farewell kiss. Alice looks up at the ceiling to the mirror. She looks to it for encouragement. She sees a smile hovering there, and lays back down. 

She remembers her pain, her carnage, her wrongdoing, her father, her mother, her attempted suicide. Her head falls back on the pillow, her mahogany curls splaying out around her in an ocean. For the first time in her life, Alice doesn't feel lost any more. 

__

I'm going back to Wonderland, she thinks,_ and this time for good. _She closes her eyes and smiles now. 

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Alice looks around her. The world is green and lush, overflowing with something much more than happiness. The sky is porcelain blue and is scattered with fleecy, grazing clouds. They are at the edge of the forest, which seems to be overflowing with flora of all kinds. Alice remembers this as the place where she had once found a rabbit's head, pierced by a barbed spear. At the spot, dainty, white flowers dapple the ground with the delicacy of ornate lace. That pain seems so near and threatening, and yet so far away. She shoves the thoughts out of her mind. _That time is over now,_ she thinks._ Things are going to start afresh._ Cheshire looks at Alice from underneath a low hanging willow, with a blissfulness that is so strong it brings him a wince of pain.

"Cheshire!" she exclaims as she notices him. He looks as though he has been sitting there, just waiting for her return. The branches of the twisting willow seem to rain down on him in brilliant, lush torrents, creating a flourishing canopy of leafy foliage. Cheshire walks over to her delicately, his tail twitching and a rumbling purr is radiated from his throat the whole time. He massages his arched back along Alice's side, his eyes closed in his feline euphoria. He nuzzles his nose on her arm, rubbing his cheeks on her hand.

"Hello, precious," Cheshire purrs, his words drizzling like honey. 

"It's over, Cat," Alice says with a hint of smile. She sighs, and it comes out as something between relief and contentment.

"It's only just begun, my love," he winks.

"Oh, Cat," she mumbles, "I wish you were not a cat…" 

As she says this, the smile on Cheshire's face begins to dull. The Cat's face flinches in pain, and he looks at his paws. They are elongating and growing, as the claws begin to retract. Alice watches in awe as the black fur begins to recede, and the Cat's form begins to change into something not quite feline. He lets out a mewl of disconcert that seems to morph into the bellow of a man. Cheshire looks in bewilderment at his body as he realizes that he is no longer on four legs, but two. 

Alice's eyes are wide pools of green as she stares at Cheshire. He is no longer a cat, but a tall, muscularly built man. He is naked, and Alice's milk-white face blushes at this, but Cheshire is too focused on his new hands to notice. He has a mane of wavy, sandy hair that falls in front of his face, obstructing his light brown eyes. He is about 6'3" and towers over Alice. He walks over to her, and touches her face gingerly, trying to get a feel for this new body of his.

"This is your world now, and you can have it any way you wish. You wanted it so?" he asks her as he runs his fingers over his face, still in shock.

"I did want it so," she whispers, taking a hesitant step towards him. 

"I love you, Alice. I think, maybe, I've always loved you." Cheshire looks down at her, toiling his fingers through the corkscrew of a curl. She touches his face and stands there for a moment, staring into his eyes. 

She thinks about him and how he's the last thing that she has been left. She leans in to be near him, his scent wafting into her nostrils, filling her up with everything that he is made of. She touches his bare chest, as if to make sure it is real. Suddenly Cheshire swoops down to her, bending over her little frame and plants his lips on hers. His tongue flits across her lips, tasting her, measuring her, before slipping inside of her mouth. Their tongues touch, and Alice feels her knees go weak. Cheshire's hands hold her face and slowly begin to meander their way down to her waist. Cheshire's mouth slips down to her neck, pausing there, tickling her with his flicking tongue. Alice lets out a small giggle and nibbles on the lobe of his ear. 

Alice feels a poke, and lets out a hearty laugh as Cheshire's face suddenly turns into confusion, looking down at his erect manhood. He then realizes his nakedness, and turns a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Ummm…I feel a little underdressed," Cheshire says, his eyebrows peaking in consternation. 

"Come on, Cat," Alice laughs at her own habitual mistake, "…I mean, _sir_…let's find you some clothes…and a palace while we're at it…" 


End file.
